Hogwarts: A New Class
by Jessafternoon
Summary: Hogwarts hasn't been exciting in years. Nicholas wishes he could go to Durmstrang like all the cool kids from Little Whinging, or at least that new American school. It isn't with fevered excitement that he leaves for his journey to Hogwarts, but something akin to resignation. That's all about to change.


Hogwarts hadn't been exciting in _ages. _Everyone Nicholas's age knew that. Nothing interesting ever happened there anymore. It had been that way for years. Nicholas's older brother Stephen had gone through all seven years as a proud Hufflepuff and never even singed an eyebrow or had to have a limb regrown. In any given year, the worst thing to happen might be a first year might getting attacked by an adventurous grindylow in the shallows of the lake; nothing ancient Madam Pomfrey couldn't handle on her tottering, old legs. It was a school of historical significance, but it had lapsed into something like normality. Nicholas _loathed _being normal, because his life had been nothing but normal thus far. His parents were happily married and his older sibling was safely ensconced in a new job at the Department of Magical Transportation. He was well-adjusted, and well cared-for, but utterly lacking in any transformative life experiences which he failed to see as a result of his meager eleven years of existence, but as a particular shortcoming which needed to be remedied.

All the really cool kids from Little Whinging were shipping off to Durmstrang, or even that new American school. There were whispers, too: _Hogwarts doesn't make great wizards anymore. Old hat. Seen better days. Wheezed its last hurrah at the Battle of Hogwarts and hasn't had much left to give since. _So it was not with giddy excitement that Nicholas said goodbye to his parents as he prepared to run his cart through the bricks at platform 9 ¾. It was with something like resignation. His parents were utterly clueless, reading his dissatisfaction as nervousness at leaving home for the first time. Nicholas's father, Marius Marnock, gripped his wife by her shoulders. Kate Marnock held her handkerchief close to her chest, but did not use it to wipe the tears that flowed freely.

"My dear, sweet boy," she said.

"Now, don't go getting into _too _much trouble," Mr. Marnock said, giving his son a hearty pat on the back.

"Okay, dad."

They didn't understand. They were still under the impression that Hogwarts was a dangerous place where a young wizard could really get hurt. Nicholas managed a wan smile and pushed his cart through the brick wall and into the bustling platform filled with other students headed for the ancient, magical school. In spite of his reservations, he couldn't help but be moved by the atmosphere. White smoke billowed from the train engine. Loose cart wheels squeaked, and the sounds of sad goodbyes and joyous greetings filled the air.

_Oy Thomas!_

_My God, Bree your hair. _

_Don't listen to your brother; the sorting hat doesn't give unwanted haircuts. _

_His name's Winston! Professor Longbottom keeps toads too. _

Maybe Hogwarts didn't take first years on a Dark Arts pilgrimage to Albania like Durmstrang, but Nicholas was feeling hopeful as he was caught up in the momentum of the masses, like the last buds of Spring to relent as if finally giving in to the peer pressure of all their flower friends.

He lugged his trunk towards the first compartment he could find with any space and was huffing and puffing by the time he was able to stow it away above his seat. The compartment was mostly empty, save for a girl about his age sitting in the opposite corner. She appeared to be deeply engrossed in a muggle magazine, the strangely-stagnant photos glossy with grease from repeated handlings. She looked up to find him staring and it was too late. He couldn't very well cut his eyes away in any natural fashion now.

"A picture would last longer."

"What?"

"You could take one. It would last longer."

"I'm sorry I…"

"Right. Witches and Wizards must not say that. I'm a muggle, or isn't that what you lot call us?"

Nicholas was utterly lost for words for a variety of reasons. The first was the luminously-bright blue eyes of the girl speaking to him and how they offset her alabaster skin and vibrant, red hair. Secondly, she was making constant and direct eye contact, which is not generally speaking a strongpoint of any eleven year old boy, and was especially not for Nicholas. Finally, he had no idea how to respond to the words coming out of her mouth.

"Um."

"I feel like that may have been overly aggressive. Can we start over?"

He nodded dumbly.

"I'm Sage. Sage Willow. Muggle."

"Nicholas Marnock. You're uh...you're not a muggle. Or you wouldn't be here. Your parents are muggles. Which is fine. I don't mind. I mean, I shouldn't...and I don't but some people...I'm sorry."

His face was quickly turning Gryffindor scarlet and Sage was giggling at him when the compartment door slid open and a line of people began to file into the open seats, shifting their trunks over their heads and talking amongst themselves. The red-headed girl sat back down with her muggle magazine and crossed her legs. Nicholas realized the conversation he had idiotically gotten himself into was at an end and was not likely to pick up again...ever. His school adventure was off to a good start by alienating the first human being he spoke to.

The second conversation was a bit easier. A portly boy with a large, red pimple on the tip of his nose sat down next to Nicholas and introduced himself as Roger Pinwhipple.

"I know about my nose," he said wryly.

"Don't see how you couldn't."

"Well some folks reckon I need reminding. Of all the places to get a pimple the day before going to Hogwarts. Tip of my bleeding nose."

"It's not...that bad."

"Good liar, you are. Ought to keep you around. It's okay. I know it's bad. My sister's a fifth year and she wouldn't be within six compartments of me in case anyone saw a passing resemblance."

"Couldn't your mum… you know?"

Nicholas wasn't immune to pimples, but his mother had always taken care of them with practical, household magical remedies. At his suggestion, Roger sighed deeply and shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Yeah, you'd think. She says it _builds character_. I'ma see Madam Pomfrey straight off after the sorting.'

Nicholas found that he and Roger did not run out of things to talk about on the train ride, although he looked up occasionally to see if Sage Willow would meet his gaze again. She appeared to be under the impression that her magazine was a great deal more interesting than the magical world she was entering, never once looking up from her reading. Nicholas and Roger played Exploding Snap until the sun set over the hills and the final stretch of the journey was at hand. Roger boarded the train in his robes, but Nicholas needed to change. He retrieved his robes from his trunk and made his way down the aisle to the loo, but before he could get there, the ground came up to cruelly greet his face.

He had tripped over an outstretched foot, the owner of which stood over him in mock apology.

"Honest mistake," a sallow-faced boy said, offering his hand. The boy's friends sniggered loudly.

Nicholas took it, feeling he had no choice in the matter.

"Thanks," he muttered, gathering up his robes and going into the loo to change. He averted his gaze from the boy and his friends as he made his way back to Roger Pinwhipple whom he found surprisingly in mid-conversation with Sage Willow.

"Nick, have you met Sage?" the chubby boy said with his mouth half-full of chocolate frog.

"Uh…"

"We have," Sage said. "In fact, I think _Nick,_" she said, picking up on Roger's unauthorized name-shortening deftly, "Knows my face quite a bit better than I do."

"She's been telling me about PPS."

"GPS," Sage corrected.

"Little spell that tells them where to go if they get lost."

"Well it's not quite…"

"Incredible," Roger said, popping another chocolate frog into his mouth. "Just incredible."

Sage made knowing eye-contact with Nicholas and smirked. It was at that moment that the gasps of other first years let them know that they had rounded the final bend, and the turrets and spires of Hogwarts Castle had finally come into view. With the exception of the sallow-faced boy and his cronies, they all gathered at the compartment windows to gape in awe at what would be their home for the next seven years. Maybe it wouldn't be dangerous or particularly exciting, but Nicholas had to admit as he took in the views of the majestic building, the dark obelisk of the Great Lake, and the surrounding hills...the year was off to a promising start.


End file.
